<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Leaving the Lonely by AlexandeNight</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719351">Leaving the Lonely</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandeNight/pseuds/AlexandeNight'>AlexandeNight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi Chapter, Peter Lucas was a jerk for making Jon destroy him, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Starvation, The Lonely - Freeform, There is a swear, Whump, You've been warned, emotional and physical, h/c, hunger, just before they reach the safe house, okay, that's a fact</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:27:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,619</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719351</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandeNight/pseuds/AlexandeNight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, weak from his encounter with Peter Lucas and Martin struggling to throw off the haze of the Lonely support each other as they make preparations for Scotland.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Leaving the Lonely</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jon had nearly folded after they left the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Instead he doubled over, holding his stomach willing, begging his body not to give out.  Not when Martin could see, not when he was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“J-Jon?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Damn it!  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>minute </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lonely </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Jon was already causing trouble.  This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he wanted.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-m fine-” he managed, though he was decidedly not fine, if the shaking and cold sweat was anything to go by.  It was as though his insides were being carved out with a pumpkin scoop.  “Really-I-I just need a moment.”  He sagged to the uneven floor of the tunnels and Martin joined him, pressing close.  Closer than anyone had been to him in a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon wanted to lean in, rest his head on his shoulder, or wrap his arms around him.  There was no way of knowing how Martin would react- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I really loved you, you know’.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The words he’d said on that distant shore came back, as if swept in on a tide.  Jon hadn’t realized the implications of them then; not when he’d been so focused on retrieving Martin.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had a new weight to them now.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I wish I would have known sooner-” fatigue threaded through his voice “how you feel or-or </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I mean.” He chuffed a sad little laugh “I’ve never been particularly good with these sorts of </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Their fingers were still intertwined, resting lightly on Martin’s thigh.  He found he didn’t want to let go yet.  Perhaps  it was selfish, childish even, but if he could hold on a bit longer- to keep hold as long as he was allowed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin hummed absently “I think it’s still </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel,</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon froze, the simple sentence eliciting a flood of emotions he didn’t realize he could experience when he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>spent.  “W-wait, you still-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never really stopped.” The words delivered in a slow, matter of fact, fashion.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The relief was almost overpowering.  He lifted Martin’s knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to them.   His hand was cold, concernedly so.  Looking  up, Jon could see wisps of fog trailing away.  Now that he thought about it, his voice still echoed with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  The tunnels weren’t helping him warm up either.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How- er…..How are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin retreated further into himself, growing even harder to read. “N-not sure” he said at long last, “Everything’s- hazzy still?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright.” he said softly, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> it to be true.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>So long as the Lonely didn’t take hold again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Eye supplied ominously.  Another wave of hunger made him curl his knees to his chest.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger and frustration flared in him.  He’d been doing so well!  Then Lucas had to get stubborn and chose to literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>rather than tell them what the hell was going on!  Beholding hadn’t seemed to be pleased with the loss of a-a </span>
  <em>
    <span>meal-</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Jon was hurting because of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How hard was it to say a few damned words?  To share a few thoughts?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem- uncomfortable.” Martin stated.  He’d gotten more direct during his time with Lucas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon gave his hand a light squeeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing that a bit of sleep won't cure.”  They’d been resting for a while now; well, a kind of rest, though Jon felt as though he’d been on a veritable rollercoaster.  Still, they were pushing their luck so close to the institute.  Between the Not!Them?, Daisy, the hunters and the cops, Jon figured it was well past time to shove off.  “It’s too risky, leaving through the institute, we’ll need to use another exhibit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guilt flared at the idea of letting the others deal with the mess, but there was little good he could do in the state he was in.  And Martin- Martin needed to get away from all of this.  They both did.  The only question was where.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbidden, the knowledge of Daisy’s safe house came abruptly to mind, the possible routes making themselves </span>
  <em>
    <span>Known</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>was sickening, he faltered, pressing his hand into his stomach once more, the pounding in his skull growing.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like hell Jon.” Martin commented in the same detached tone.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his part, Jon grunted an affirmation, hoping that the eye would let up just a bit; enough to get out of London at least, enough to bring Martin back properly.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They hit Martin’s flat first.  Jon coaxing him to pack while perched on the edge of the bed; hunched over, sharp elbows on knobby knees.  It wasn’t the first time Jon had visited, but the difference was stark.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before, it had been homy, though, sparsely furnished.  A few knits on backs of overstuffed chairs, the smell of bergamot from the tea Martin was fond of, a few house plants, and candles scattered about.  Now, the comfort of the place had fled leaving the chill of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon hated that it was here, hated how it had nearly claimed Martin.  So much had happened while he was...</span>
  <em>
    <span>incompasitated</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  Turning into one of the very eldritch horrors they took statements on.  Sustained by fear and despair- there was another stab of hunger- well, sustained in </span>
  <em>
    <span>theory </span>
  </em>
  <span>at any rate.  Instead of being able to help his assistance, they’d been forced to manage him </span>
  <em>
    <span>as well as</span>
  </em>
  <span> fend off the attacks on the archives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done.” said Martin at long last, jaring Jon out of his musings.  He groaned, he’d meant to keep an eye on him, not zone out- </span>
  <em>
    <span>useless.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren't-aren't you taking your poetry journal?”  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beholding </span>
  </em>
  <span>told him Martin hadn’t packed it.  When he’d lived at the archives, he’d rairly been seen without one.  Filling dozens of the things with probationary prose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man frowned “Haven’t been writing much these days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-oh, right.” said Jon.  “Just- we’re headed towards a pretty rustic area, there may not be a lot to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin considered this for a moment before crossing to the small bedside table and drawing out a small collection of books.  “Then maybe I’ll have time for a few of these.” he said, tossing them over.  “Been meaning to get to them, just- didn’t seem like there was much of a point really-”  The last book in the stack caught his eye, a leather bound journal.  He took a moment to flip through.  “Hugh,” a ghost of a smile graced his face “it’s almost full-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he’d be up to writing more?  Jon made a note to pick one up at the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohh-” Martin’s eyes lit up to their original honey brown “I know what we need!” and he retreated into the main room, coming back with a small radio with dial knobs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon snorted “Lo-Fi charm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep!” he beamed.  “My next door neighbor gave it to me growing up.  Minded me when my mum went out.  They used to pick up pirate radio on this bad boy back in the day.  Though my mum never liked it much- She-” he faltered, frowning slightly, his eyes clouding once more.  The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lonely </span>
  </em>
  <span>was back.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed, squashing the disappointment.  This, clearly, was going to take some time.  But for a moment it looked as though Martin was snapping out of it, then this business with his mother?  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He knew.  Yet another thing that had happened while he was in goddamned </span>
  <em>
    <span>coma</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do you really know about each other?</span>
  </em>
  <span>  Jon watched Martin struggle to fit the new items into his bag before sliding down next to him with a “I think this is going to need a repacking Martin.”  The other man huffed out an agreement.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, he didn’t know much about Martin.  He knew his fondness for tea and poetry, that he enjoyed the Lo-Fi aesthetic, made people feel noticed in small, meaningful ways Jon never understood.  Knew that he hated peaches, could be every bit as brutally honest as Jon (when provoked) and that he was the one person Jon wanted by his side more than anything else.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eye </span>
  </em>
  <span>slipped in through the wedge of his curiosity, feeding him more information.  Like how the friendly neighbor had been one of the few adults to take a genuine interest in Martin.  They’d bake pastries on occasion (often inedible) and they taught Martin how to cheat at cards, which he had excelled at.  Even when Martin moved away, they’d kept in touch until they died-and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord, Stop!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Pain tore through Jon’s insides, head splitting, the Eye demanding payment for information he had no right to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Know</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  He collapsed inwards, holding himself together as best he could begging it to stop.  Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a hand over his shoulder; icey but soft.  It was grounding and Jon leaned into the touch, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Martin’s touch.</span>
  </em>
  <span>  It was a long while before Jon unfurled, finding himself on the floor, his head pillowed on Martin’s leg.  The former had been stroking his hair with cool hands that flet wondrous on his pounding headache.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Martin asked, he was barely focused on Jon now, fog closing in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes- I- yes” his voice was a horse whisper.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin hummed in a way that made it plain he didn’t believe him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“J-just the encounter with Lucas-took more out of me than I thought it would-”  it was the truth, most of it.  It still didn’t change the fact that the flat wreaked of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  The mist swirling around concerned him “Martin-you... with me?”  Normally Jon could ignore the</span>
  <em>
    <span> Lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span>.   But not now, not after what it had tried to do to Martin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon reached up gently cupped his cheek, running a thumb over the freckles dashed crossed his face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin sighed and nodded, holding Jon’s hand lightly.  “Always.” and some of the haze lifted.  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ever just wonder about their state after they left the Lonely?  Cuz last we heard, Jon was pretty wrecked and Martin was unceremoniously yeeted into the lonely by Lucas.  Always pictured that it took a while for the numbing effects of the Lonely to leave.  </p><p>Part II will be along within a week.  </p><p>Comments, questions or constructive critiques (includes both strengths and challenges) are greatly appreciated.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>